


Nicke Wilde as John Wick

by sheepdog1944 (LoneWolfSniper44)



Category: John Wick (Movies), Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23580139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoneWolfSniper44/pseuds/sheepdog1944
Summary: When a mafia boss' son picks the wrong fox to rob, the retired assassin digs up his buried past and the hunt begins.
Relationships: Judy Hopps & Nick Wilde, Judy Hopps/Nick Wilde
Comments: 17
Kudos: 45





	Nicke Wilde as John Wick

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a short section of the movie John Wick, here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-rcy4NjOh0  
> Obviously, spoilers if you haven't seen the movie yet. (And if you haven't, you should.)  
> Enjoy!

The fox who strode into Finnick’s garage wearing a brown leather jacket and jeans was not someone he had ever expected to see again. At least, not until earlier that day. Now, the fennec treated Nicholas Wilde’s arrival as inevitable as death. Taxes were another matter. There were no hellos exchanged, not even a nod to acknowledge each other. Nick simply sat down on a stool beside the car Finnick had been working on and eyed him over the bottle of scotch.

“Is it here?”

Finnick uncorked the bottle and poured a healthy portion in the glass across from his. “It was. Duke Weaselton nicked it.”

“Mr. Big’s boy.”

“Yeah.”

* * *

**_Earlier_ **

The harsh tone of a car horn echoed through the roll-up door at the front of the shop. Finnick rolled his eyes even as one of the boys opened it just long enough to let the driver pull in before letting it slide shut again. The idling rumble of a V8 was temporarily deafening before the driver cut it. The fennec’s ears flicked toward the sound. Something familiar there. 

Frowning, he stepped out from behind a chopped-up coupe, he spotted a two polar bears flanking a scrawny weasel and groaned inwardly. The Big family were long-standing customers and paid well, but this prick was a right pain in the ass. Just behind them, however, was the grill and front wheels of a car Finnick hadn’t expected to ever see again. And with these three? No, he must be mistaken. He hopped onto the hood of a flashy black pickup and flicked his sunglasses off. He didn’t need the second glance after all. Years of street hustling allowed him to force his ears to remain erect and alert, but he couldn’t keep from baring his teeth. Of all the cars to bring in. The weasel was already brusquely demanding a clean bill of sale and papers for the car, but Finnick interrupted him.

“Where’d you get it?”

The weasel stopped mid-sentence and cocked his head, a small grin on his smug face.

Now Finnick did growl. “I asked you where the Hell did you get it?” he snapped.

The weasel scrunched up his face like he’d just spotted a cockroach. “Who gives a shit?” He went back to asking for those damned papers, but Finnick snapped his gaze back to the car. The jet black Ford Mustang Mach One was a rare piece, and he’d only even known one mammal who drove one, instead of just keeping it tucked away in their garage, and he wanted no part in anything to do with that car if the mammal he knew wasn’t driving it.

“All right, get outta here,” Finnick snapped, turning on his heel. “Just get out of my shop. Get out right now.” 

“Did you just lose your shit, Fin? Because we own you.”

Finnick’s paw stopped mid-stride and he moved back to stand in front of the weasel. “Wait what’d you say? What’d you say to me?”

The weasel drew himself up, in spite of standing head and shoulders above the fennec as it was. “We own you.”

Finnick narrowed his eyes. “You don’t own me punk. I work with your father all right?” He looked at the Mustang again. “The owner of the car, didja kill ‘im or what?”

At that, the weasel chuckled. “No, but we sure as hell fucked up his sloth pal.”

Finnicked gave a grin and even chuckled a little too. “You fucked up his sloth. That’s what you did, you fucked up his sloth.” He shook his head, still chuckling enough to shake his shoulders. “That’s crazy shit, man.” Without another word, he snatched the weasel’s shirt, hauled him down to eye level and cold-cocked him off his feet. One of the bears pulled a sidearm from his belt and held it up to the fennec’s head. Finnick stared up along the barrel that nearly covered his entire face and grinned a savage grin. 

“Oh look at you. That’s great.”

The polar bear raised an eyebrow at the fennec’s lazy laugh.

“You come into _my shop_ and pull a gun on me, tha-hat’s great.” He grabbed the barrel and pressed it to his own forehead, no longer laughing but staring unblinkingly at the suddenly unsure ursine. “C’mon, you kill me _right now_ , or you get the _fuck_ out of my shop.”

Before the bear could decide, his partner reached over and forced the gun down with a stern look. Meanwhile, the weasel was still on the ground, wiping blood from a split lip. 

“Mr. Big is not gonna like this,” the more reasonable polar bear rumbled, scowling at Finnick. 

“How do you know what Big likes or doesn’t like?” the fennec snapped back, turning and hopping off the truck’s hood. “I’ll tell you something, he’s gonna understand.”

“You got a fuckin’ pair on you, old man!” he heard the weasel sputter. “Guess we’ll be taking our business someplace else.”

Finnick didn’t even acknowledge the trio as they clambered back into the ill-gotten car and roared off into the night.

A short while later, Finnick stood alone on his tool chest, staring over a half glass of scotch at nothing in particular. Whether it was the same glass or not was hard to say. Beside him, the old rotary phone he kept for only one purpose rang. Setting the glass aside, he picked up the phone.

“Finnick speaking.”

Compared to Finnick’s baritone voice, a low but almost nasally voice spoke calmly through the earpiece. “I heard you struck my son.”

“Yes sir, I did,” Finnick replied evenly.

“And may I ask why?” There was just a hint of anger in the voice.

“Yeah well, because he stole Nick Wilde’s car sir, and uh...killed his sloth friend.”

There was a long moment of silence before the voice replied, almost deadpan, “Oh.” The call ended a moment later. Finnick hung up his phone and picked up the glass again. He knew it couldn’t have been just his imagination that the voice on the phone sounded almost resigned.

In the midst of the frozen wastes of Tundratown, Mr. Big tucked the cell phone into his jacket pocket and watched the growing clouds cover the horizon. It would be one Hell of a blizzard, he decided. Already the wind was howling toward the coming storm. The shrew couldn’t feel it, of course; he was dressed warmly in a three-piece suit and sheltered from the worst by the massive bulk of his most trusted polar bear assistant. The ursine who held his chair carefully in his paws paid the winter storm no more heed than a summer breeze. His only concern was the comfort of his master, whom he kept one eye on at all times. The others would take care of the perimeter.

His master kept his gaze on the horizon for a long minute, then with a flick of his small wrist he gestured his attendant inside. Obediently, the bear cupped his hand over Mr. Big to shield him from the winter gale and moved quickly into the mansion’s uppermost level. Once safely inside, he uncovered Big, who turned his gaze up to another polar bear, Kevin. An unspoken question passed between them when Big raised his brow. Kevin gave the tiniest grin and nodded. The visitors had accepted his deal. Not as though he’d given them much choice, but still. 

Seeing his master’s sudden pensiveness, it was Kevin’s turn to raise his brow. Was there something he could do? It was very strange to see Big act like this after such news. The rodent spoke his question this time.

“Have you seen my son?”

Biologically speaking, Duke Weaselton was not his son, couldn’t possibly be, but Big had seen the clever work and - more importantly - the drive that the admittedly-brash mustelid displayed and over time had brought him into the family. His work had been passable, but nothing Big might have expected from a mammal who intended to carry the family name. Big now began to wonder if Duke’s ambition was only thinly-veiled greed. It would not be the first time the rodent had misjudged someone. He had underestimated Nick once, too.

Big and his assistant were waiting in lounge when Duke and his companions strode in.

“They won’t be bothering us again,” Duke said by way of introduction. “Or ever.”

At a nod from Big, Kevin poured a weasel-sized glass of vodka for Duke. Big held out his glass and Duke tapped it with his. The mustelid was quick enough to down his portion, setting the glass on the counter for a refill. Kevin raised a brow toward Big, but the shrew made no response to Weaselton’s impatience. Instead, he motioned Duke closer, looking the puzzled weasel up and down for a long moment.

“That’s a nice jacket,” he said finally, much to Duke’s surprise. 

“Thanks,” he said with a laugh.

Mr. Big nodded to Kevin, and the polar bear stepped forward. With two fingers, he gave a quick jab into Duke’s stomach, the equivalent of a hefty punch from a mammal more his size. Kevin stepped back beside Big as Duke crumpled to the ground, immediately retching up the vodka. At a gesture from Big, a small towel was tossed at Duke’s feet.

“Clean that up,” he snapped, his patience gone. 

Still coughing, Duke did as he was told. Kevin gave a soft cough, and Big glanced over. The polar bear had both brows raised and tipped his head toward the door. Big shook his head and looked back at Duke just as he wiped the floor clean.

“What’d I do?” the weasel coughed.

“You fucked up,” Big said simply, gesturing for another glass. 

“We did what you asked. No one saw shit.”

The shrew shook his head as Kevin handed him his second glass. “I’m not talking about Sahara Square.”

“What then? You mean Finnick’s?” Duke’s voice pitched high in indignation. “So I stole a fucking car!”

Big scowled and jerked his head at Duke, earning the weasel another quick jab to the stomach. Kevin huffed, visibly uncomfortable at the task, but he stiffened at a glance from Big. Meanwhile, Duke managed to haul himself to his feet.

“It’s not what you did, son, that angers me so. It’s who you did it to.”

Weaselton’s eyes flicked down for a moment, then snapped back to Big. “Who? That fucking nobody?”

Big downed his second rodent-sized glass of vodka and met the weasel’s gaze. “That ‘fucking nobody’ is Nick Wilde.” At that, the bear standing guard over Big’s chair seemed to flinch, then straighten his posture a tiny bit. “He once was an associate of ours. We called him Baba Yaga.”

If possible, Weaselton looked even more perplexed. “The Boogeyman?”

Big cocked his head and thought for a moment. “Well, Nick wasn’t exactly the Boogeyman.” The shrew fixed his gaze on the weasel again, practically snarling now. “He was the one you sent to _kill_ the fucking Boogeyman.”

Duke’s confrontational stance dropped along with his voice. “Oh.”

Swiveling to face the windows, Big continued as the storm arrived in full force. “And suddenly one day he asked to leave. It’s over a woman of course. A cop if you can believe it.” He extended a paw, and Kevin carefully placed another shrew-sized glass of vodka in it. “So I made a deal with him. I gave him an impossible task. A job no one could have pulled off.” Big dropped his voice to what might have been a whisper. “The bodies he buried that day laid the foundation for what we are today.” Downing the third glass down, Big swiveled slowly back to face Duke. “And then, my son… A few days after his _wife_ died, you steal his car, beat him to within an inch of his life, and kill his fucking sloth.” With a snarl, Big turned away.

“I can make this right!” Duke said, perhaps a little louder than necessary.

“Oh?” Big remarked without turning his chair. “How do you plan that?”

“By finishing what I started.”

To his credit, the weasel had moderated his tone and still at least sounded confident. Unfortunately, Big didn’t share his confidence.

“Did he hear a fucking word I said?” the shrew snapped at his polar bear attendant. Kevin barely had time to look surprised before Duke continued.

“Pa, I can do this, please.”

Big shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with a tiny paw. “Duke, Duke, my son.” His other hand beckoned the weasel closer, and he leaned down. Big hooked one paw into Duke’s nostril and pulled him closer still. “Nick will come for you.” Duke’s eyes went wide as Big’s voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “And you will do nothing, because you can do nothing. So get the fuck out of my sight!”

With that, he released Duke’s nose, and the weasel backed hurriedly away, jaw closing with an audible clack as he nearly stumbled over his own feet. Once he was gone, Kevin looked down at his boss, who sighed and met his gaze, his composure returned and fully professional.

“Task a crew.”

Kevin floundered a moment, glancing around the room before looking back at Big. “How many?”

Big’s stoic expression seemed to slip for just an instant when he sat up quite straight indeed. Was that a gulp?

“How many do you have?”

* * *

“So what are you going to do?” Finnick asked after a pregnant pause.

The younger and larger of the two foxes sat still for a moment, then downed the offered glass in one gulp and glanced around the shop.

“I need a ride.”

Finnick shrugged mentally, snatching a set of keys off the wall behind him and tossing them to Nick. It was the closest thing he had to a Mustang. Barely a minute later, the car purred out of the shop, sounding familiar but not quite right. In the settling silence, the Fennec shook his head and went back to work. The other mammals acted as though nothing had happened.


End file.
